


Graham's Number

by hanars



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanars/pseuds/hanars
Summary: Seven and MC share a quiet moment.  Spoilers for Seven's name.Graham's number is an unimaginably large number that is an upper bound on the solution to a certain problem in Ramsey theory.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed some quick Seven fluff, I'm hurting here.

"My life was nothing but mysteries," he says, his voice slow and even, "problems that I spent all my time solving." His head rests on your stomach, and your fingers rake through his hair. "Then you came along, another mystery, but this time I couldn't solve you."

"Saeyoung," you say, smiling peacefully, looking up at the ceiling. "Am I a mystery even God Seven can't solve?" 

He sits up as his fingers press into your sides and he walks them down towards your hips. His eyes are intent, focused on the way your skin reacts to the pressure but there's something on his mind and you're never really sure what. His mind works in riddles, solving-- always solving, even if they haven't determined the question yet.

But you find comfort in his logic and the way he works things through, no stone unturned, never satisfied with an answer until it's been double-checked. He likes certainty: knowing that you're safe, knowing that you're here. Without certainty, people get hurt. Everything is calculated. 

So the first time he says he loves you, even though there's panic in his voice and neither of you knows what's going to happen you believe him immediately because numbers don't lie. "Not that you're a number," he'd said, "but it's easier to see the world as a series of ones and zeroes."

Later, after you'd made love for the first time, you asked him how many bits, how many ones and zeroes it would take to enumerate the way he felt in that moment, and he didn't have an answer. You were at the grocery store the next day when he texted you an exponential figure far too large to express on the screen of a cell phone and said, "A conservative guess ^_^."

"Maybe I never want to solve you," he says now, leaning over you, kissing your stomach, your chest. "For so long I didn't want anyone to get close because of my work. Because they'd be safer being as far from me as possible."

You prop yourself up and find his mouth with yours, kissing him deeply. He smells like cinnamon and faintly like Honey Buddha Chips, but he tastes like fire that builds in your belly and ignites every inch of you, consuming you whole. His arm snakes under you and his hand settles on your lower back, his skin cool against your burning insides, and you know the only way to put out the fire is for him to be on you, all over you, but his other hand tangles in your hair and he holds you close against him. 

"Now I know we're safer right here," he says. His voice is a whisper in your ear that betrays a vulnerability he still isn't used to showing to another person. 

"Together," you say, and you can feel his face change against your neck as he smiles and holds you close. 

"Together."


End file.
